Bosnian
by sangre antigua
Summary: Dean meets a Bosnian huntress and...clicks


**Author:** sangre antigua.

**Rating; Title; Pairing:** M; Bosnian; Dean Winchester/OFC.

**Summary:** Dean meets a Bosnian huntress and...clicks.

**Warning/Disclaimer:** Do not own _Supernatural. _This was written for a friend. :) Sorry if I...bleh. I'm a slash writer, so this was a little out of my comfort zone. Enjoy!

The life of a hunter was solitary. Though people and creatures alike were around every corner, each hunter had his or her own scars that kept others from getting too close. The scars were sometimes literal and sometimes figurative, but the point got across either way: I am not a people person, and I will only tolerate your company for as long as needed. Hunters tended to move alone, or in small groups of two or, in rare cases, three or four. Nomadic people, they traveled and lived out of cars and motels, more often than not using some illegal means to keep money coming in.

Running in small packs even transferred over to working with other hunters. Despite being hunters themselves, most hunters heavily disliked other hunters, be it for their tactics or their reasons for hunting. Whatever the reason happened to be, it kept them at a distance, like a tribe of warriors disbanded through different customs and beliefs. The same warrior blood ran through them, but the passage from the heart to the rest of the veins and to the brain was totally different.

The Winchesters were no exception. Sam and Dean heavily preferred to work on their own, with their targeted monster and the innocents they were sent to save. A few exceptions included family friends and those who had won over their hearts. But, otherwise, working with others was just too messy and too risky. Some hunters turned out to everything but what they seemed. Alone was usually best.

For the past four days, though, Dean and Sam had been working with a huntress from Pennsylvania. They had gotten wind of a demon killing businessmen in southern Idaho and had come to check it out. The other hunter was already there, talking to the few witnesses and looking over the crime scene just hours before they, themselves, had. They intercepted her one day after she had checked out the residents of the latest victim. She was brash, quick-tongued and extremely unhappy to have the Winchesters stepping on her toes. With a modified shotgun in her hand and a dagger tucked in her combat boot, the woman was a force to reckon with and even prompted Sam to suggest their retreat. But, intrigued by the female hunter before him, Dean insisted they stayed and told her who they were and how they could help. As soon as she heard their last name, the huntress reluctantly agreed to let them help. Their father had saved her family before they had even dreamed of creatures like wendigos and shape-shifters. They could help, as long as they didn't impede the process. Despite her surrender, she cursed their names the whole time they worked together.

Eventually Dean got on her good side and she opened up to him over a few bottles of Bud. He learned about the abduction her family underwent when she was nine, kidnapped by a gang of vampires and tortured for three days before John had rescued them. She showed him the scar on her shoulder from where they had bitten her and commented on how faint it had become. In a hushed voice she told him it never stopped aching. The gloom in her eyes had never fully dispersed, either. He also learned about the death of her parents six years earlier, murdered by a particularly nasty werewolf in Georgia. Across her shoulder ran a claw mark from beast, a badge she wore fiercely in commemoration of avenging her parents. A clip of the creature's hair sat in a locket that hung around her neck at all times, between two pictures, one of her mother and one of her father. She never took it off.

There were other things Dean learned, but his methods weren't necessarily the same. The name she went by, Morana Honig, was fake. She had chosen the name "Morana" because it meant "Death" in Croatian, and "Honig" because it was a Slavic surname meaning "honey". As a huntress, she was dangerous but alluring, like a Venus flytrap with hips. She drew in the monsters like bees to pollen, using her looks to her advantage to get the job done. It didn't hurt her pool endeavors at bars, either.

Unlike the name given at birth. Her real name was Mirsada Sehic, and her first name loosely meant "peace" in Bosnian. She rarely felt peaceful, and when she did there was blood on her hands and a family free from the grips of Hell. That didn't exactly spell "peace" to her.

After a hard night's work of investigating and plotting, Dean had run her name through a database on Sam's laptop. She had been born in a town named Vareš in Bosnia and Herzegovina, and had migrated to the States during the Bosnian Genocide. For a few years, she and her family lived in a podunk town in Maine. That was until, Dean guessed, the vampire attack. Her records didn't go much further than that. When he ran her alias, he got a few speeding charges.

Sam had looked at him with something like pity and shook his head. "You are _not_ going to mess around with her," he had ordered, setting a bag of weapons gingerly on the ground. He had just cleaned them and was rubbing his hands against his undershirt.

"Why not?" Dean asked, mischievous grin plastered about his face. "She's _perfect_," he purred, and took a second to imagine her in his mind. Long legs, curvy hips, medium sized breasts, toned exterior, hazel eyes that could go on forever...

From the start, Sam hadn't liked Mirsada. There was something cold about her that rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the dead look in her eyes that she got when the room went quiet, or the way she tried to hide things from them even though they were working together."She's going to rip you open and tear you apart."

With a laugh, Dean rose from his chair and headed for the bathroom. There was more to her than her coldness; Sam just couldn't see it. He couldn't see the way her eyes shifted from hazel to flaxen whenever she helped someone, or the way she eased her shoulders back like a lioness when she relaxed and let her guard down. "Maybe that's how I like it," Dean joked, and headed for the shower.

The next day at sunset they met Mirsada and went after their demon. For one that slipped through their fingers several times, the demon was easy to take down and fought horribly. Despite the lack of challenge, Mirsada took pride in exercising it and freeing the woman it had held prisoner. They cleaned up in silence while the woman, Julia, sat in the back of Mirsada's jeep, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and an anxious frown fit snugly to her face.

Mirsada dropped Julia off at a motel and gave her enough money to stay for a night. Dean had driven behind her jeep to make sure the demon hadn't inhabited anyone else and ambushed the two females. The last thing he wanted was a replay of the last car ride he, Sam and John had shared together. Quietly he watched as the two hugged, and he observed with a smile the golden gleam in the huntress' eyes.

Back at her car, Mira leaned against the Impala window, one hand on her hip. "I'm a big girl," she said, rolling her eyes but smirking none the less, "I can handle this myself. I told you."

"Come have a drink with me," Dean obliged. He could almost hear Sam rolling his own eyes. "Sammy here doesn't want to get beer on his dress. And I hate drinking alone." He barely flinched when Sam jabbed him in the side.

"I'll meet you at my motel after you drop off your sister." They shared a grin and she walked to her car. She could feel Dean's eyes looking her up and down, as well as Sam's bitchfacing into the distance.

Once Dean had dropped Sam off and picked up Mirsada, they drove in a comfortable silence to a bar off the highway. The bar was pretty low-key and quiet, with a few regulars posted in booths on the wall. Cigarette smoke created a thin veil of milky gray in the air. They sat at a small table in the middle of the bar. A waitress came to the table with a twinkle in her eyes, obviously checking Dean out. When she noted Mirsada quirking a brow in her general direction, she eased up. They ordered two beers and three shots of tequila before they were left alone.

"We probably won't see each other after this," Dean commented, playing idly with a coaster that was left on the table. "Sam and I've already got another job in Nevada." Their drinks were sat before them without a word from their waitress. Dean smirked at his companion's look of triumph. "What do you have planned?"

"I got word of a nest in Oklahoma. Any chance I get to rid the world of some bloodsuckers, I take it." In tandem, they took one of their shots. They both hissed under their breath before chasing the liquor with a swig of beer. "Well, if I don't see you two again, good luck with your hunts. And good riddance." She led them in their next shot, this time not chasing it afterward.

"You, too." Another silence engulfed them, this one just as comfortable. The tequila was warm in their stomachs and their victory still swam boldly in their veins. "Ax one extra hard for me, will ya'?"

"Can do." Last shot and they were both smiling at everything and nothing. Even when there was little talking, drinking with someone else was still better than drinking alone. It was the comfort of having someone else there, even if it went by the invisible code of the lone-wolf hunter. "You have my number if you need me with anything. Keep me posted if you do."

With a nod, Dean took a drink of his beer. It was cold and fragrant, better than most of the beers he had had throughout the country. Small bars tended to have the best beer. He was unsure as to why, but he didn't care question it and jinx it.

After a few more beers and another round of shots, there was a pleasant buzzing in the ears of both parties. They walked out together and head for the Impala, parked alone in the back of the bar. At the grill they stood quietly for a moment before Dean licked his lips and rubbed his neck. "I, uh, had a good time?"

"Don't cheese this up, Winchester." She climbed into the passenger's side and eased herself into the chair. Dean got in moments later. "Drop me off at my motel?"

The motel Mirsada was staying at was akin to the Motel 6. It was small and the furniture was out-dated, but the room did its job. It had a bed, a shower and a coffeepot—what more could a hunter ask for? In the parking lot, Mirsada checked her phone and clicked her tongue at the time. It was getting late and she needed to hit the road in the morning. "Bloodsuckers don't wait for just anyone," she joked and peeled herself from the Impala.

She turned around at the door of her room, key in her hand and hand on her hip. Dean was still in the car, a look on his face saying that he was battling with himself about something. Probably as to whether he had been invited in or not. "Are you just gonna sit in the car and look pretty, or at you coming in?" she called. She let the door fall from her hand and headed for the bathroom. Dean caught it before it closed.

She came out in a wifebeater and her jeans, her hair, which had previously been up in a butterfly clip, down at her shoulders. It sat layered in waves of golden brown curls, framing her pale, heart-shaped face. It bounced when she walked, as did her breasts. They were held up by a black lacy bra, and between the two full cups sat a dainty little red bow. "Make yourself comfortable in my humble abode," she jested, toeing out of her combat boots and setting them against the wall.

As Dean made himself comfortable, he pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and put it on silent. If Sam was in a mood from being ragged on, chances are he would try to ruin Dean's evening with the beautiful Bosnian removing her belt beside him. That wasn't happening. She sat down while Dean tucked his phone back into his pocket.

"I'm gonna miss—that car of yours." The face he made caused her to laugh, and she laid back on the bed and held her stomach as she did so. She wiped tears of laughter from her eyes and smirked as Dean looked down at her.

"I'm going to miss your rack," he said bluntly. She laughed again and Dean joined in, laying down beside her and subtly touching his hand to hers. "But, seriously. I'm going to miss you putting Sam in his place. I like a strong woman."

"Serious. I'm going to miss that car." She grinned more and rolled onto her side, fully facing Dean now. The cleavage this caused almost made Dean drool. "And I _guess_ I'll miss you, too."

"You better," Dean whispered, and gingerly pressed his lips to hers. She tasted like strawberry chap-stick and beer, a perfect combination for her perfectly plump lips. The kiss deepened and Dean rubbed at Mirsada's arms before moving flush against her body. Her skin was warm beneath his rough hands, and her hands were surprisingly soft against his own skin.

She climbed on top of him in one fluid motion, her legs gracefully resting on either side of his person. Slowly she rolled her hips into Dean's groin, smiling into their kiss as strong hands gripped her hips. Those same hands rubbed circles into her skin for a few moments before climbing under his tank top. Goosebumps came to life under his fingertips. One by one the clasps of her bra were undone, and she sat up to allow her wifebeater to be removed. Both articles were removed and tossed carelessly to the floor. The rush of cool air against her chest hardened her nipples. Dean ghosted his fingertips over her nipples, tweaking them gently and watching Mirsada squirm in pleasure.

The shirts keeping her skin from his were removed in a frenzy and tossed every which way. She traced her fingers up and down the dips in Dean's built chest, reveling in the way his stomach contracted and released when he breathed. Her attention was also caught by a vein in Dean's neck, fat and full of blood. She leaned forward and licked the length of the vein, the hiss Dean uttered a conformation of pleasure. She nipped at it, swirling her tongue along it once more. Dean's hands groped up her sides aimlessly, finding purchase on her ass. The supple flesh was squeezed and pawed while she continued her assault on his neck.

"Harder," he groaned, and he rewarded a sharp bite with an even louder groan. He let his hands wander again, this time resting on her back, and brought his nails down the skin there. She arched her back sharply, causing Dean's nails to come down a little sharper than they had before. "Kiss me," he barked, and she kissed her way from his jugular to his mouth. Teeth and lips met in a fiery embrace, their tongues fighting for dominance in one another's mouth.

"Take off your pants," she demanded, and Dean complied without resistance at all. As she lifted her hips from his body, giving him room to maneuver, Dean unbuttoned his jeans and yanked down the pants forming an infuriating barrier between his body and the body of the Bosnian above him. He shimmied out of them while undoing and removing Mirsada's own. Now all that was left was their underwear.

Lips returning to their fiery kiss, Dean flipped their bodies so that he was on top. He spread her legs and fit his body to hers, his hardening erection pressing against her black panties. He ground his hips into her, a soft moan leaving her mouth, and pulled her up into his arms. He assaulted her nipples as they kissed again, some time later drifted from her mouth to her neck. He sought out the bitemark on her neck and dragged his tongue along both of the faded puncture wounds. Then he fit his teeth in alignment with the holes and bit roughly. A strangled moan left her lips and she bit into his skin with her nails.

Rough sex usually wasn't Dean's thing, but something about Mirsada brought out the animal in him. He bit harder, sucking roughly on her neck, and griped her hips hard enough to bruise. _She probably likes it_, Dean thought, amused. But why was he thinking with his brain? His body should be doing all the work.

Out of breath, Mirsada uttered, "Pants. Back left pocket. Condom. Grab it." Not wanting to pull away, but needing the condom, Dean swallowed his distaste and leaned back to fish through her fallen jeans. When he returned to Mirsada, the foil-wrapped rubber between his teeth, she was completely naked with her legs spread and her shoulders propping her up. "Come and get me, big boy."

Dean dived for the pink between her legs. He kissed both sides of her pelvis, snapping at the bones beneath taut muscle, before making his way down to the sensitive clit between naked lips. Expertly he flicked his tongue at it, lapping at the organ as Mirsada groaned and bit at her lip. He worked at it some more, flicking her tongue around the pink, and roughly inserted two fingers into her opening. He shimmied them around, curling them upward and against her pleasure spot. "D-Dean," she whined softly.

"'Dean' what? Tell me what you want." He inserted another finger and pushed them in and out roughly, tongue still working avidly on her clit.

"Fuck me!" she called, lifting her hips in time with his fingers. "Fuck me, fuck me hard, God Dean."

"Hands and knees," he barked, and she complied breathlessly. While she positioned herself, he stood up and jerked off his boxers, a tent prominent in his pants. The erection sprang free with its confines now removed. Before climbing behind Mirsada, he rolled on the rubber. "Tell me you want it," he huffed, rubbing his finger against her clit with one hand and pinching her nipples with the other.

"I want it. I want you in me." As soon as the words left her mouth, Dean positioned himself at her opening and pushed the head of his length inside of her. "Quit toying, Dean. _Fuck—_God, fuck me." With that, he pushed himself in the rest of the way, filling her up with his warmth and being engulfed by her own. He could feel her wetness through the condom, and he glided effortlessly in and out of her as he thrust into her. Harshly he grabbed her hips, squeezing the supple flesh.

Mirsada moved in time with Dean's thrusts, reveling in the way he hit her spot every time he drove himself into her. Gradually she sat up, leaning back against Dean's chest. She lifted herself up and down, aiding Dean in his thrusting whilst aiding herself in getting Dean even deeper inside of her.

"Like that? Like that?" He nibbled at her ear, enjoying how versatile Mirsada was in the sack. He would miss her tight warmness, and her supple breasts, and the way her moans jumpstarted his heart. Tonight he would have to milk this for all its worth. Dean thrusted a little harder and nibbled at her ear and neck a little angrier, goosebumps coming to life all over her back.

"D-Dean...I'm gonna—fuck, I'm gonna cum!" The impending orgasm shook her entire body, starting at the tips of her toes and encasing her in a white-hot wave of pleasure. When it finally peaked, starts burst before her eyes and she clenched her muscles hard. She rode it out as long as she cool, a whimper erupting from her lips. "There, there, there."

The tightness started to get to Dean. He felt a clenching in his balls and a swirling in his stomach. Dean gave a few more harsh thrusts before his orgasm coursed through his body. He pumped a few times, his sweaty forehead pressed against Mirsada's neck. He pressed several kisses to her neck, running his tongue along her throat again.

Reluctantly, they pulled apart. Mirsada laid on her back, licking her too dry lips and running a hand through her hair. Dean followed suit, his chest against Mirsada's side. "Maybe I'll just call you so we can do _that_ again," Dean grinned, and he nipped at her shoulder.

"Maybe you should." She nudged his head up and roughly kissed him, catching his lip between her teeth and yanking playfully.

They laid in silence for a few more minutes, kissing on and off again, until Mirsada looked over her shoulder at the small alarm clock on the nightstand. She stood up, stretched her arms in a feline fashion, and pulled back on her panties. "You should probably get back to Sam," she muttered, picking up her wifebeater and throwing it over her shoulders.

Dean laughed, propping himself up with his elbows. "You throwin' me out?"

A simple shrug was his answer.

"Wow...I usually dip in the middle of the night," he laughed.

"Same here, but this is my room and I have to get on the road early, so..." She bit her lip and smiled. "Keep in touch, will you? It's not often I get dominated like that."

"Oh, I will." In a comfortable silence, Dean fished his clothes off the floor and pulled them on, keeping his pants unbuttoned as well as his flannel shirt. "I'll...see you later," he mumbled, and placed a kiss on her lips.

"Goodnight, Dean."

He began for the door, stopping only to say, "Be safe, y'hear?"

"You, too, Dean. I mean it." She smiled warmly at him and waved goodbye.

In the Impala, Dean rubbed his hands for warmth. The air outside was cold, unlike the hot, moist air in the motel charged by their carnal actions. "Wait 'til I tell Sammy about _this_ one," Dean grinned, and he started the Impala.


End file.
